


Heart Like An Axle

by pikablob



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon), Secret of Kells (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Hypothermia, Minor Character Death, Near Death Experiences, Sad Varian (Disney), Trans Varian (Disney), quirin is dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26581123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikablob/pseuds/pikablob
Summary: Varian escapes his imprisonment, only to stumble straight into a blizzard; he's saved by a mysterious girl with green eyes and a lot of secrets.
Relationships: Ruddiger & Varian (Disney), Varian (Disney) & Aisling (Secret of Kells)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	1. Bitter Cold (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended Songs: [Heart Like An Axle (Varian's Theme)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qhBDa8dVvo0), [Téir Abhaile 'Riú (Aisling's Theme)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5K4TIQXCmPQ)

It was bitterly cold. Snow fell thick and fast, turning the world around into a fuzzy grey-white haze. It crunched loudly with each step Varian took, each time threatening to trip him up. It was too deep for Ruddiger to even try and keep pace; instead the raccoon curled around his shoulders, trying to share heat. Varian couldn’t help shivering all the same, feeling the biting chill seep through his thin shirt. Each breath turned to white mist before his eyes, the air cold enough to sting his throat.

He hadn’t gone back to Old Corona after escaping prison. It was the first place guards would look; at least that was what he’d told himself when he chose to run north instead. But that decision meant he had nothing on him besides the few things he’d been allowed to keep in the dungeon.

That wasn’t much at all: the battered outfit he’d been wearing since the night of his revenge bid, now soaked with snowmelt, was all the clothes he had. The gloves were at least something, but they were meant to keep out chemicals, not cold. After hours of walking in the blizzard he was beginning to regret not at least going back for supplies.

Still he walked on, though all he could feel in his feet was the pain of blisters and every limb was starting to get heavy. He couldn’t turn back; the whole of Old Corona had shunned him back when he’d been falsely accused of attacking the princess; how would they, or the kingdom, react to him now, when he’d done so much that anyone else would’ve already been executed for it? There was no going back, and he knew that.

Thoughts of all he’d done filled his mind; sure, Rapunzel had abandoned him, left him alone for months when he needed her most, but that paled in comparison to drugging half the populace, kidnapping the queen, and trying to crush her and Cass. Not to mention the assaults or the theft. And deep down, buried under a layer of eroding denial, he knew he was at least partly to blame for what had happened to his father.

He felt the faint stinging of bitter tears, but still kept walking. Ruddiger chattered concernedly, but the noise sounded faint and distant. He could feel the pain dull in his feet, and his legs begin to wobble with each step as the cold sapped what little strength he had. He just felt so _tired_ ; part of him was worried he’d pass out with each begrudging step. 

Ahead loomed a large rock, poking up through the blanket of snow and capped in white. He finally allowed himself to slow as he approached, He stumbled forwards, slumping side-first against the frigid stone; Ruddiger yelped, leaping from his shoulder and up onto the rock. His legs gave way, and he fell into the snow at the thing’s base with a quiet thud.

He could feel the exhaustion beginning to claim him, even as his mind still whirred with regret. He was vaguely aware of tears flowing down his face as the reality of his situation set in. He was probably going to die out here, he realised; he would go down in history as the boy who murdered his own father and attacked the royal family, mourned by nobody. Some twisted part of him wondered if Old Corona would even celebrate his passing.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, even as the edges of his vision turned dark. He wasn’t really sure who he meant it to; the list of people he owed it to was probably too long to count. Ruddiger made some noise in response, but it sounded like a far-off echo.

The raccoon would be alright, he supposed; he could survive in the wild, he was no longer trapped in the dungeon, and he wouldn’t be at risk of becoming a guinea-pig in any more experiments. Even he’d be better off, Varian thought sadly.

Ruddiger was moving again, squealing and tugging at his master’s sleeve. But Varian’s vision was already fading, and he wouldn’t have the strength to move again even if he hadn’t resigned himself to his fate.

Suddenly the raccoon looked up, rising onto his hind legs and gazing out into the blizzard. From the snow emerged a looming shape, right in the centre of Varian’s darkening view. He could just make out a tall, lupine form with white fur, two green eyes boring into him. The wolf stalked closer, taking in the broken boy and the companion at his side. A spike of worry hit Varian, but before he could act, the growing numbness enveloped him and he felt no more.


	2. The Cave

Varian awoke with a start. For a moment his vision was blurred, the world beyond nothing but indistinguishable shapes, but he blinked a few times and slowly things seemed to settle. For a moment he wondered if he was even alive, or if this was whatever came after, until he became aware of a splitting pain in his head and aches all throughout his body.

He was lying on his side, he realised, in some kind of cavern; beneath him rags insulated him from the stone floor, while a coarse brown rug had been pulled over his body. His clothes were crusty from drying. In front of him was a small fire in a ring of pebbles, burning low and gently filling the space with warm light. He took a deep breath; the air that filled his lungs was warm and smokey.

Immediately coughs and splutters overcame him. His throat burned, and he felt for a moment like he would hack up his lungs. Finally it subsided, leaving a nasty stinging at the back of his mouth. The sound of scampering paws echoed; he looked over to see Ruddiger scurrying over, making all sorts of noise. Varian could read the creature well enough to know he was relieved.

He tried to sit up as the raccoon reached him, but his arms quavered and his head spun the moment he tried to move. So he took another deep breath and lay there as the raccoon snuggled up to his side, weakly reaching around to pet him.

“Where are we?” Varian asked weakly, his voice close to being lost entirely. Ruddiger seemed to understand, glancing away towards the darkness beyond the fire’s glow. Following his gaze, Varian saw the glint of green eyes in the black for a moment before they seemingly vanished.

“What were you doing out here?” a voice suddenly demanded, somewhere close behind him. “You do know you nearly died, right?” It was a quiet voice; whoever it was sounded young and feminine, with an accent he didn’t recognise. He rolled over, wincing at the pain, but there was nobody present. “Well?”

Suddenly the eyes were directly above him, staring straight down to meet his gaze. But their bearer wasn’t a wolf anymore; instead staring back at him was the small, round face of a young human girl. He jumped, scrambling back, upsetting the covers and causing a spike of pain in his head.

When everything reasserted itself she was still standing before him. She was tiny; if he had to guess he would have pegged her age at half of his. Her skin was deathly pale and her hair a silvery white, hanging down behind her and dragging on the floor in an uncomfortably familiar way. Her mouth was pursed in a thin line, and thick eyebrows furrowed accusatorily above those green eyes. She wasn’t dressed for the cold; a threadbare grey top, fraying at the sleeves and the bottom, covered her body, while similar fabric wrapped her feet.

“I, uhh, I got lost,” he said quickly. Her expression didn’t change.

“That’s not what he says.” She jabbed a finger at Ruddiger, who looked up at him apologetically. “He told me you were running away.”

“You can talk to him?” Varian asked cautiously, looking her up and down. “You’re not human, are you?” A flash of what might have been offence crossed her face. He blinked and she was gone.

“Do I look human?” Suddenly she was beside him, glaring down at him. He quickly shook his head, sending another spike of pain through his cranium.

“No,” he said quickly, trying not to sound in-pain. Her expression softened a little, no longer a glare but still questioning.

“You’re sick,” she said bluntly. “Walking through that storm wasn’t clever.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” he replied, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling at the back of his throat.

“Why not?”

“Because I messed up,” he admitted, blinking at the sudden stinging in the corners of his eyes. “I’m wanted, the whole of Corona hates me, my only friends already turned their backs, and my dad…” he trailed off, not really knowing how to put it into words. Ruddiger chittered sympathetically, clambering into his lap. “He’s gone.”

“You’ve no father?” she asked, tone surprisingly soft. Slowly and sadly he shook his head, trying not to inflame the pain further. “No mother, either?”

“No.” He kept shaking. She seemed to shrink back, clasping her hands together in front of her and looking down.

“And no home to go back to. I’m alone too,” she admitted. “Well, Pangur comes around sometimes, but mostly she stays at Kells and I can’t go there.”

“Pangur?” he asked.

“She’s a cat,” the girl explained, “Well, she was anyway.” Varian wasn’t entirely sure what she was talking about, but he decided not to press it. Based on her demeanour, he was worried he’d stumbled into something personal.

“What’s your name?” he asked instead.

“What’s yours?” Her eyes narrowed again, and she folded her arms.

“It’s Varian,” he croaked, “And that’s Ruddiger.” He gestured to the raccoon still curled atop the rough cloth covering his lap. Her expression softened again. He blinked and she was gone again.

“Aisling.” Suddenly she was in front of him, a small smile on her face. He jumped.

“How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” she said innocently.

“Forget it,” he sighed. “Look, thanks for saving me back there. I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise.”

“You would have died,” she said, “You do know that, right?”

“Yeah I know,” he replied quickly. “I just, I don’t know, what choice did I have?”

“What would they do if you went back?” she asked, head tilted curiously.

“Throw me back in jail, at least,” he admitted, before taking a deep breath, “Maybe even hang me. And even if they don’t they’ll all still hate me. There’s nothing left for me back there, except maybe my supplies.”

“Supplies for what?” she questioned, plopping herself down into a sitting position.

“Alchemy,” he said dryly, unable to muster his usual enthusiasm. She looked at him blankly, clearly not understanding. “I am, or was, I’m not really sure right now, an alchemist,” he went on. “It means I use science to create and manipulate all sorts of chemical compounds, to put it simply.”

“So… like making ink?” she asked uncertainly. 

“I mean, making ink is basic,” he shrugged, “But yes, that’s alchemy.” It was a strange example, he thought, but he kept that to himself; he doubted she had much exposure to modern science, being some kind of magical creature and all.

“So what can you make?”

“A whole lot more,” the ghost of a smile crossed his face, the embers of his enthusiasm stoked. “Bioidentical hormones, truth serum, cleaning fluids, you name it. Flynnoleum is so exothermic just a drop will heat a whole house when reacted properly, and Cassandrium’s a whole new element, both created by yours truly. I was even able to make a fluid that corroded the bars on my window using just the plants and scraps I could scavenge in the dungeons under Corona!”

Her head tilted to one side as she listened. The blankness in her expression told him she really didn’t understand, but something else glistened in those green eyes.

“Is that how you escaped?”

“Yeah.” He nodded proudly. “It took some work, but I was able to extract tannic acid from some plants growing near my window, and then enhance its corrosive properties using metal oxides I harvested off the bars and a few extra ingredients I pulled from other plants in the room.” He paused for a moment, before adding. “It’s basically the same reaction as making your ink, actually, just set up for a different result.”

“Oh.” She leaned forwards onto all fours, her interest piqued. “Then what do you need your supplies for?”

“More complex stuff,” he explained. “I can’t make new elements out of plants and rust, and even simple work often needs a gas burner or something.”

“What’s a gas burner?”

He thought for a second, trying to think of how to put it in terms she would understand. “It lets you make tiny flames and control how hot they are, so you can heat solutions to just the right temperature for reactions.”

“Oh,” she said again, before asking. “You don’t do any drawing, do you?”

“I do technical illustrations,” he replied quickly, not entirely sure what she was getting at, “For things I’m building. And sometimes its easier to draw out complex formulas than write them. Why?”

“You reminded me of someone.” She ran an strand of silvery hair through her fingers, suddenly sounding strangely vulnerable. He opened his mouth to ask, only to think better of it. She spoke again, her tone neutral. “So where are all your supplies now?”

“Old Corona,” he sighed, “In my old lab.”

“Where’s that?”

“Just inside the border wall,” he explained, “Right on the edge of the kingdom.” He could practically see the gears turning in her head. She stood up, what might just have been determination crossing her face.

“I know the big wall,” she said, “It’s not far. Once you’re better, you could show me the way from there.”

“Why?” he asked without thinking. Her brow furrowed in irritation.

“To get your things,” she said bluntly, as if it was somehow obvious. He blinked; she wanted to help him further? After all the trouble he’d likely caused for her?

“It’ll be guarded,” he replied quickly. “They’ll probably be waiting for me to come back.”

“So?” She raised an eyebrow. “They won’t see us. I’m good at getting into places your people don’t want me.”

“You’d do that for me?” he asked incredulously, trying not to sound ungrateful. “Why?”

“Because I want something from you; I’ll take you back to Old Corona to get whatever it is you need,” she offered, jabbing one finger at his chest, “But in return you have to promise to make me some ink and teach me how to draw.”

The thought of going back made his stomach turn uncomfortably, especially knowing his father’s body would still be there, frozen in amber. But he did need at least some of his things; one chemical in particular worried him, and he wasn’t sure he could remember how to make it without the original notes. Looking up at Aisling he could see that strange glimmer in her eyes again, behind her expectant expression, and he got the inexplicable sense that this was far more important to her than she was letting on.

“I’ll do it,” he agreed, offering his hand to shake. She broke out into a small smile, but eyed his gesture with confusion. “…you’ve never shaken hands before, have you?”

“No,” she admitted innocently, before sticking one of her own hands out in kind. Gently he took it in his own, giving it a shake.

“Like that,” he said gently. “It means you agree on stuff, or you’ve made a deal.”

“Good,” she nodded. “We’ll go as soon as you’re better.”


	3. Home You'll Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of gender dysphoria.

It was dark by the time they reached the wall. It was still freezing cold; with fresh snow no longer falling the stuff on the ground had turned icy and treacherous, frozen hard in the night. Aisling hadn’t been bothered, of course; she scurried over the ice and snow with the grace and speed of a rabbit, while Varian struggled after.

He still didn’t really feel well. Moving too fast made his head spin, and his throat and forehead still burned, but he was determined to get this done. He hated feeling like a burden to Aisling, lying there bedridden while she went out to gather food and firewood that she wouldn’t need without him and Ruddiger to take care of. So he’d insisted they travel as soon as he could stand, even if he didn’t really feel up to it.

“Why did they build this?” Aisling’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She was standing at the wall, one hand on the cold stone, looking up curiously at the battlements high above.

“To keep the Saporians out, I guess,” he explained, stepping over the last few feet to where she was waiting, “Back when we were still at war with them.” She seemed to understand, nodding with mild interest.

“Although,” he paused, remembering, “When I was really small my dad used to say it was to keep the trolls out. He said there was a bell in one of the towers, and when it rang they all ran away.”

He’d always assumed it was just a story, something to keep him from wandering at night. But now he was following some fae creature to a town full of magical black rocks connected to a princess with glowing indestructible hair, so maybe trolls weren’t out of the question either.

“Trolls don’t come this far south,” Aisling replied matter-of-factly, “Not anymore. But they do hate bells.”

She started walking again, following the old wall’s base. He kept pace; she wasn’t running anymore, and the ground in the wall’s shadow was mostly dry. Crossing bare soil proved much easier than trying to trudge through refrozen icy snow.

“Did he tell you any other stories?” she asked as they went on. He shrugged.

“Not many,” he said wistfully, “Once I got into alchemy I didn’t want to hear about magic anymore; I was a man of science.” He heard her suppress a giggle.

Ahead the now-familiar hole in the wall drew close. Moonlight shone down through it, bathing the land this side in a ragged circle of pale light that ended in shadow. In the light he could see the road through still covered in flattened black rocks, the snow filling the gaps between them, and a few more upright jutting out around the gap. It was an uncomfortable reminder, and he felt the churning in his stomach return.

Aisling sucked in a deep breath at the sight of the rocks. She stepped up to the breach, what might have been trepidation visible in her tiny form. She went to step through, out of the shadow and into the moonlight.

“Wait!” Varian whisper-yelled. She stopped mid-step, shooting him a questioning glance. “There’s probably guards.”

She nodded, then cautiously peered around the broken stone. He crept up behind, leaning over her to see for himself. Beyond he could make out the familiar buildings of his home, lit only by the pale glow of the moon. The place looked deserted; there was no sound, not even the chirping of birds or the skittering of animals could be heard.

The black rocks were still everywhere, ripping up through the ground and building alike, and amongst them he saw the moonlight glinting off twisted metal. He tried to hide his surprise as he recognised the broken forms of his automata, still lying where they’d fallen. Had nobody come here at all since his arrest?

The largest, the one he had piloted himself, still lay in the centre of the town, impaled on two of the largest spikes. The sight made his stomach lurch again, memories of what had happened last time he was here twisting their way into his mind unbidden.

“Did you make that?” she asked, stepping cautiously past the wall and towards the wrecked machine.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly, feeling a stab of guilt. If she noticed, she didn’t say. He stepped closer, picking his way past the black rocks.

“Why?” she asked as he approached, looking over at him. “What happened here?” He paused, not really sure what to say. So far he deliberately hadn’t thought about telling her; would she turn her back like the rest if she knew the truth? But looking down at her expression, somewhere between curious and expectant, he found he was unable to bring himself to lie.

“I made a mistake,” he began, looking up at the wrecked machine to avoid her gaze. “The only person who could help was Rapunzel. She was…” he trailed off, not entirely sure how to explain. “I thought she was a friend; she said she would help me if I needed her, she promised. I crossed the whole kingdom in a blizzard just to get to her, but when I got there she just ignored me. She didn’t even try to stop the guards throwing me out! She just didn’t care!” His voice cracked. Aisling shifted uncomfortably. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself enough to continue.

“So I tried to make her care,” he choked out. “I built these automatons and I used them to kidnap her mother. I threatened her and her family and everyone else until finally she agreed to try and help me. But it didn’t work; I was too late, and I just got so angry at them, like my mistake was all their fault cause they didn’t help me…”

He trailed off. She shifted back, not afraid but definitely uncertain. For a moment silence settled, with only the distant wind as a backdrop. “That’s why I can’t go back,” he spoke again, more to fill the air than anything else. “That’s why I can’t stay here. Anyone else would’ve been executed already.”

“What ‘mistake’ did you make?” she asked bluntly. “The one they wouldn’t help you with.”

“It’s easier if I show you,” he sighed. She looked at him suspiciously, arms folded again.

“Then show me,” she acquiesced. He nodded sadly, turning away from the wrecked automaton and towards his old home. It stood forebodingly in the midst of the black rocks, nothing but darkness visible from the windows, and as he walked towards it he could tell she was hesitant to approach the place.

She shivered as she came near to the rocks. It was disconcerting; in the short time he had known her Aisling had shown herself to be many things, but silent wasn’t one of them. She could be quiet, sure, whenever she wanted to sneak up on him, but she always had something to say in his presence.

He took a deep breath as he reached the door, gently and cautiously pushing it open. The old wood creaked and the hinges squealed as it swung, revealing the darkened entryway of his former home. He stepped inside gingerly, glancing back to make sure she was still following.

The whole place was a mess; with nobody to clean it everything was still where it had last fallen, all now covered under a fine layer of dust. She regarded it all with interest, something unreadable glinting in those green eyes. He walked on, feeling the uncomfortable sensation in his gut growing again as his workshop drew near.

Finally he stepped through into the familiar chamber. His heart lurched and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of his father’s body, still frozen in the same spot within the vast growth of amber that dominated the center of the room. What would he say now, if he could see his son as a fugitive and attempted murderer? If he knew what Varian had done for his supposed sake?

The sound of Aisling taking a sharp breath of surprise was enough to snap Varian back up the present. He looked over to see her stepping towards the amber, eyes wide and arms wrapped around herself.

“This is a dark place,” she observed, voice hushed. “Did you do this?”

“Yes,” he admitted, “I did. The black rocks just started showing up; nobody was doing anything about them, my dad even lied to the king about it. I thought maybe I could change things, maybe I could get rid of them with alchemy. But I messed up the formula. Instead of dissolving the rocks, it started growing this stuff.”

He paused, feeling tears threatening to spill forth. She turned away from the amber, her gaze setting on him instead. “It caught his arm and he couldn’t get free,” he went on. “Nothing I tried would either; somehow the amber inherited the black rocks’ durability and I still don’t know how to reverse it. So I went to get Rapunzel.”

“How could she help?”

“I don’t know!” he admitted, voice breaking. “But she has magic hair and she always seemed to know what to do so I was sure she could do something. But she refused, and her guards threw me out, and by the time I got back dad was…” he trailed off, looking down, feeling the bitter tears start to flow. Because deep down, as much as he had done everything he could to avoid admitting it, he knew the truth.

“Dead,” he choked out finally, reaching out to place one hand against the cold amber. “I just wanted to make him proud, to prove for once that I wasn’t just some screw-up, but instead I ruined everything.”

He felt the gentle touch of a small hand against his side. Immediately he shrunk back, confusion and fear and a hundred other emotions all running through him at once. Rubbing the tears from his eyes he saw Aisling standing beside him, arm hesitantly extended, a look of sympathy on her face and that old strange gleam in her eyes.

“It should be me in there,” he choked out, “Not dad. He pushed me out of the way. He let himself get trapped so that I could be safe and all I did was make everything worse.” He slumped into a sitting position, looking up at the frozen body with tears still falling from his eyes. Quietly, she sat down on the old stone beside him.

“Is that why you walked into that blizzard?” she asked softly. He hesitated, then shook his head sadly.

“Not at first,” he admitted, “All I wanted was to get away, to leave all my mistakes behind and forget everything. But after the snow came in and I couldn’t go on I realised everyone would be better off without me.”

“How can you say that?!” She leapt to her feet. “That raccoon of yours would never forgive you if you died!” He blinked in surprise, shrinking back from her outburst. “And,” she added, suddenly hushed again, “Neither would I.”

“But I-”

“If I thought you were evil, I would’ve made the wolves in the forest eat you by now,” she said firmly. He opened his mouth to speak, but no more words would come. “I told you, your raccoon told me a lot,” she continued. “He trusts you, so I do; animals always know best. I've seen darkness, real evil; you're not it.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. She had known who he was all this time, and yet she had still somehow decided he deserved her care. He couldn’t keep further tears from falling, so he just sat there quietly and let it out. Silently she sat back down beside him, and he felt her hand gently return to his side. He was grateful for the contact, and slowly he felt the tears subside.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, looking over and down to meet her gaze. That same gleam was back in her eyes, strange and distant, before she blinked and looked away.

“Don’t make me regret that,” she said bluntly. Varian just nodded, wiping the tear-tracks from his face with the back of his glove.

“Help me get my stuff?” he asked dryly, not wanting to be here any longer than necessary. She murmured in assent. Slowly he got to his feet, turning away from the amber and walking over to his old work desk. It was still as he had left it; his notebook was in the centre, open to his sundrop research, while writing implements and empty vials surrounded it. Sheets of formulae still covered the wall behind it, most of them failed attempts to dissolve the amber.

“There should be a leather satchel near the door,” he said over his shoulder, “Could you-”

“You mean this?” He jumped; she was already by his side, holding up the old satchel in her tiny hands.

“Uhh, yeah.” He took it sheepishly, turning back to the desk. The equipment scattered across it wasn’t even a quarter of what he owned, but it would suffice; he could only carry so much, especially now. Carefully he began packing it all up, dusting off each beaker and vial before placing them gently in one of the satchel’s many pockets.

Finally he picked up his inkwell, stoppering it, and stashing it with the rest of his supplies. He then picked up the notebook, flipping through the last few pages to reassure himself everything was still there. Satisfied he closed it, and went to place it in the satchel.

“Is that a book?” Aisling asked suddenly. He turned and looked down; she was eyeing his hand with interest.

“It’s my notes,” he replied awkwardly. “All those alchemical discoveries I told you about? They’re in here.” He wiggled it slightly for emphasis.

“Can I see?” Varian hesitated; there was no way she would understand most of it, and he didn’t have a backup if it got ripped or smudged. She seemed to take offence at the silence, her brow furrowing. “I won’t damage it, if that’s what you’re worried about. I know how difficult those books are to make.”

He still didn’t really feel sure, but she seemed sincere. And after all she had done he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that he owed her in return. So he gingerly held out the old book. “Sure, I guess.”

She snatched it from his hand. She sat down cross-legged on the old flagstones, flipping the cover open. As he watched she started flipping rapidly through it, her gaze crossing each page with inhuman speed. But she seemed to be taking care of it, and so after a few moments he turned away, heading over to his reagent chest.

“This isn’t like the other book I’ve read,” Aisling observed quietly, more to herself than to Varian. He didn’t reply, not quite sure what to make of that. “But,” she continued, “You are good at drawing.”

“Thanks?” He looked back; she was looking up at him, the familiar glint in her eye that told him she was being reminded of someone from her past. By now he was really starting to wonder who that person was.

When she didn’t say anything else, he looked away again. The reagent chest gave a loud creak as he opened the lid, revealing a dozen stoppered vials, all samples of his successful compounds. Behind them were a myriad of glass bottles of common ingredients; he took those first, before moving on to the multicoloured samples.

Finally, he reached the last thing in the box. It was in one of the back corners, deliberately hidden behind every other vial and permanently in the shadow of the lid: a single vial of slightly-yellowed clear liquid. It was the thing he had been most worried about, the one chemical he needed more than anything else in this cold and empty place; his home-made supplement.

The recipe had come from an old Ingvarrian alchemical textbook, modified and tweaked through weeks of self-testing, all in secret. Varian knew his father would have stopped him if he had known; he would have seen it as too dangerous, never understanding how badly his son needed it. And it wasn’t like there was anyone else who would understand his situation.

Nervously, Varian glanced back at Aisling; she was still engrossed in his notes. What would she think if she found out his gender had been misjudged at birth? Would she think he’d been lying to her? Part of him, at least, wanted to trust her; she had already seen the rest of his soul. But at the same time he seriously doubted she would understand.

His father barely had, and Varian had never even heard of anyone else in his situation. Aisling was some kind of fae creature; things most humans considered normal eluded her knowledge, so what would she think about gender issues? No; despite how much he craved understanding, he doubted he would find it here. It was better if she didn’t find out.

He shifted so his body would hide the vial from her gaze, hoping to avoid any awkward questions if she happened to look up. Another glance confirmed her attention was still elsewhere. Satisfied, he quickly reached down and grabbed it.

“What’s that?” Aisling was suddenly right beside him. He jumped, the vial slipping through his fingers.

It tumbled through the air for a moment, the yellowish liquid sloshing inside. Then a small white hand snatched it out of the air. Aisling held it up to the moonlight, an accusatory frown on her face, his notes tucked under her other arm. “You were trying to hide this from me, weren’t you?”

“N-no!” he stammered quickly, feeling his stomach lurch with newfound panic. “I didn’t-” She glanced between him and the vial. By the look on her face alone he could tell she didn’t buy it for a second. “Okay, fine, maybe I did.” He folded his arms, shrinking back from her gaze.

“Why?” she needled, dangling the vial between her fingers. “What’s so important about this?”

“It’s not important,” he lied, hating how his voice cracked. “It’s just something I have to drink sometimes, okay?” She seemed to shrink back a little, as if she could tell she had struck a nerve, but her face remained set.

“You let me see all this,” she said quietly, gesturing to the rest of the lab. “Why would I care about a strange drink after that?”

He paused, not really sure what to say. The part of him that wanted to trust her seemed to grow, finding its voice in the back of his mind. She hadn’t thrown him out even after knowing every other secret he had; maybe he could tell her this last one.

“It’s not really easy to explain.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, stepping forwards. “But I’ll try.” He took a deep breath.

"When I was born, I was..." he trailed off, trying to think of the right words. "Everyone thought I was a girl." That got her attention. Her expression softened, a sort of quiet understanding settling in her eyes. "And I guess I did too," he continued, "for a while, but I always felt weird about it. Once I got older, and things started changing, that feeling got a lot worse. It was like, like it wasn't actually my body; whenever I looked in a mirror, someone else stared back."

"So, you make this to feel more like yourself?" she asked innocently, cutting him off.

"Something like that, yeah," he shrugged. “It actually started with my hair; I just hated having it long, so I cut it. And for the first time I actually looked like me, instead of someone else.”

She glanced up at his hair. “Is that when you added the stripe?”

“Yep,” he nodded, “It just helps make it more, well, _me_. But I didn’t just want to stop at my hair; I want my body to feel the same way, and that’s what that formula does.” He pointed down to the vial in her hands. She nodded sagely, realisation growing in her eyes.

“Because you can’t change your form,” she observed quietly, “Like I can.” Gently she held out the vial, offering it back.

A flood of relief hit him all at once, and a tightness he hadn’t even realised was there loosened in his chest; he felt the faint stinging of tears for what felt like the millionth time that night. Because for the first time, he felt like someone understood. Every part of his soul was now bare to Aisling, and there was still no judgement in her gaze.

“Why are you crying?” she asked softly.

“I don’t normally talk about that,” he explained, wiping the dampness from his eyes, “Nobody here ever got it, not even my dad; I got so used to just pretending it wasn’t a problem. So, I guess, it means a lot that you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?” The smallest of smiles broke through her frown. “Your people worry about the strangest things.”

“Huh.” He reached down, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t say you’re wrong.”

“Exactly,” she agreed, smile growing. “Now; shall we get the rest of your things?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to [ASingleMind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASingleMind) for helping me with this chapter!!


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